This is Joe.  Joe is very happy these days.  In fact, you might listen to Joe these days and think he’s gone mad.  This usually even-keeled guy who speaks with measured words is sharing his deep joy with the world.  There is a backstory.  He got engaged.

Psalm 111 begins with the words:  Praise the Lord.  This imperative in the Hebrew is where we get the word Hallelujah.  To hallal the Lord is to offer foolish praise.  Abandoned gratitude for what God has done.

So here we have a call to praise God with abandoned gratitude, foolishly, with our whole heart.

There is a backstory to Psalm 111…

Verse two says, Great are the works of the LORD, studied by all who delight in them.  We hear that God is gracious and merciful…just and true.  But what are the works of the LORD?  This text provides clues to the works of the LORD.

Verse five speaks to the close connection between bread and covenant.  He provides food for those who fear him; he is mindful of his covenant. But what is the relationship between food and covenant…between bread stories and doxology?

It is sometimes difficult to remember that God is the source of bread.  We live in a world that tells many stories about bread.  Powerful stories that come to us through the media, institutions and ideologies.

We are told that we will get bread if we are smart enough or pretty enough.  If we work hard and are successful we can own the bread factory, or a chain of bread franchises.  It is even possible to pastor churches and write best-selling books that legitimate the bread stories of culture.

Others tell us the system is rigged and the only way we can get bread is by hustling on the streets, or hoping for a government bread program.

Either way, when we buy into these other bread stories, we will likely have diminished time and energy for doxology.  When we are situating our lives in other bread stories, even when we do show up in the congregation, our acts of praise are likely half-hearted.

But we hear the psalmist emphatically abandoned to doxology with God’s people because the psalmist knows the backstory.  So what is the backstory to doxology?

The backstory is that despite what Adam Smith or Karl Marx may teach us, the powers are not the source of bread.  The biblical story tells us that the God we worship is the creator of all things.  God is the source of bread.

The backstory is that we do our own thing and there are consequences—hardship, struggle, death.  But God does not give up on the work of creation.  In fact, God establishes covenant with Abraham to make a people who will share their bread with others and be a blessing to all the nations of the earth.

In the same chapter in which we read about the call of Abram, we also read that Abram has to go down to Egypt to find food because the famine was so severe (Gen 12).  We learn early on in the biblical story that Pharaoh always has food.  There are natural resources—the Nile River—that make it so, but there are other reasons.  Pharaoh controls the military and the infrastructure of production.  And so Pharaoh always has wealth and power.

The backstory to doxology is that later on in the story the family of Jacob is having problems.  The older sons of Jacob sell their younger brother Joseph to slave traders.  He ends up in Egypt where there is a market for slaves.  Falsely accused of sexual impropriety, Joseph ends up in prison.  Long story short, he ends up interpreting Pharaoh’s dreams—which are dreams about food and scarcity.

Joseph becomes the Secretary of Agriculture and is put in charge of managing the supply of food for Pharaoh.  Study Genesis 47 and you will learn how the food system of Pharaoh eventually leads to slavery.  The story of slavery is a long and complicated story.  It is a story which must be told if we are to really grasp why doxology makes sense as a response to God.

Eventually Joseph dies and a new king rises to power.  The king sees the demographics of Egypt shifting.  He is fearful that he will lose his grip on power.  He fears the possibility of insurgency and alliances with enemies.  And so he implements a policy of forced labor (Exodus 1:8-11).

The backstory to doxology depends upon recognizing the way false bread stories enslave us.

But God does not leave his people enslaved to the bread story that is based on fear and domination.  God sends a deliverer who grows up in the house of Pharaoh.  He goes to elite schools and studies all the literature and science of the day.  But he is a Hebrew and he sees his people oppressed by the bread story of Pharaoh.  The system makes him so angry that he even lashes out and kills someone.  Eventually, he accepts the call to live in solidarity with his people. And so Moses helps lead the Israelites out of captivity into the wilderness where they are dependent on God for food.

These are the great works of the LORD:  Creation, the Exodus, covenant, food in the wilderness, and the gift of land…

But this is not the end of the story.  The story goes on and from time to time Israel forgets God.  We tend to tell this part of the story in fairly concrete ways.  We remember that Israel worshipped  idols.  The story could also be told like this.  Israel got busy.  Canaan was a fertile land flowing with milk and honey.  They began to experience abundance.  They forgot that God is the source of bread.  They forgot to share their bread with the widows, orphans and aliens in their midst.

The practice of doxology became less and less of a priority.

Sometimes people look to politics to solve the bread problems of the world.  The story of Israel is that they want to have a king like everyone else.  They think that a king will help set things right.  There are good kings and bad kings.  And so God sends the prophets to remind his people that their sacrifices are offensive if they are not accompanied by sharing bread with the neighbor.

The backstory of doxology is that eventually God—mindful of his covenant—sees the system as so broken that he sends his people into exile in Babylon.  It is a place of desolation where it is difficult to sing songs.

This brings us back to Psalm 111.  Book five in the Psalms (107-150) is thought by many scholars to be post-exilic.  When God’s people return from exile they have learned in a new way what it means to offer doxology to God as the source of bread.

The story of Israel is also our story.  We also trust in other bread stories.  Even after we have experienced God’s deliverance from false stories, we get distracted.  We want to live in both stories—the way the world talks about bread and the way God talks about bread.  And so the truth is that sometimes…we have little energy left for doxology.

A life of doxology depends upon recognizing God as the source of bread.  This is the backstory to Psalm 111.

Mark’s gospel continues the story of God sending redemption to his people (v. 9).  Our reading today follows the text we read last week in which Jesus calls some fishermen to leave their nets.  Jesus calls them to follow him and learn to trust God as the source of bread.

In today’s reading Jesus enters the synagogue in Capernaum on the Sabbath.  Jesus teaches with authority and those who heard him were astounded.  In the synagogue there was also a man with an unclean spirit.  Perhaps he heard the teaching of Jesus, perhaps the spirit that energized his life made it difficult to focus.

What we know is that he was agitated.  There are perhaps different ways we could talk about this man’s problems.

We carry many things in our spirits.

We are born into the world with a spirit to eat, to breathe, to live…to be loved.  We cry for these things.  We spend our life energy trying to fill these needs in many ways.  Many things happen along the way and our spirits sometimes soar…other times our spirits are weighed down by trouble and pain.

The text does not tell us what kind of spirit filled the man.  Perhaps it was a spirit of anger, rage, bitterness, shame, fear…

Whatever it was and whatever his story was, this text offers hope to all of us.  The good news is that whatever our story is, Jesus meets us in that place. The gospel story is that Jesus offers healing and peace whatever the condition of our spirit.

Jesus meets us and offers the bread of peace and freedom.  And when we come to Jesus we come with open hands…ready to receive.  This is the posture of doxology.  The posture which we embody when we come to the table to receive the bread that Jesus offers.  It  is the posture of whole heart gratitude for the One who sustains us with daily bread.

Great are the works of the LORD.

Praise the Lord!

It’s New Year’s resolution season—a profitable time for the self-improvement industry.  Some people went back to the gym this week.

According to the projections of one research firm, Americans spent $62 billion last year in the hope of keeping resolutions to lose weight, get fit, quit smoking, fix their finances, organize their life…  And so memberships for health clubs spike each January.  But by March, there is no wait for the treadmill.

Change is not easy.

The gospel of Mark begins not with the birth narrative, but with the voice of a messenger in the wilderness proclaiming a message of change. People from all over Judea and all the people of Jerusalem were going out to see and hear John.  Why?  What were they looking for in the wilderness?  Perhaps, like those who make resolutions, they were looking for change.

To be human is to experience change.

In the book Faithful Change, James Fowler says the need for change in our lives comes from at least three sources:  developmental change, healing, and disruptions in the systems that shape our lives.

We have to deal with change because we are bodies.  From the time we are embryos, through childhood, through adolescence, out bodies are continually growing and changing.  Our genes and social environment influence how our bodies mature into their adult forms.  And then we eventually begin an inevitable process of gradual decline toward death.

And so, James Fowler says, we need courage and faith for this journey of growth and change, of struggle and development.

This is just one kind of change.  We could talk about the change that comes because we are born as fragile beings—dependent on others.  We are wounded in these early years of life.  We learn defenses.

And so we need healing, but healing is disruptive.  Healing is disruptive, because we must do the hard work of facing ourselves and the painful parts of our story.  We must do this work if we are to see what is the image of God and what is broken in our story.  Healing is another source of change.

Mark’s account does not provide many details about those who traveled out into the wilderness.  Perhaps they were at various stages of life.  What we do know is that they were leaving their daily routine of productivity.  They were following the impulse of a deeper yearning.

Fr. Richard Rohr says that the journey of the first half of life is very different from the journey of the second half of life.  He says: “The task of the first half of life is to create a proper container for one’s life. . .

In the first half of life we are discovering who we are (identity).  We need to know what makes us significant (self-worth/love).  In the first half of life we go about the task of finding out how we will support ourselves (vocation) and who will go with us (significant relationships).  These are all first half of life tasks that help us create (as Rohr says) a “proper container” for our lives.

Rohr says, “The task of the second half of life is . . . to find the actual contents that this container was meant to hold and deliver.”  Whereas in the first half of life we must learn self-control, in the second half of life we must give up control.

Rohr observes that much of institutional religion is concerned with the tasks of the first half of life.  The tasks of the second half of life move us closer to the concerns of Jesus.

In many ways, John the Baptist doesn’t fit into the mold of the religious establishment.  The camel hair wardrobe and locust and wild honey diet mark him as different.  Jean Blomquist says, “Manifestations of the Holy aren’t always warm, fuzzy, or welcome.” (“Embracing Epiphany“)

So again the question:  why were folks going out into the wilderness to see this strange figure?

Perhaps they carried the displacement of a community that was longing for fulfillment.  The gift of displacement is that we begin to embrace the wilderness work of God.  Displacement is part of the human experience even after the incarnation–even after Christmas celebrations.  The invitation of Epiphany is to look for the ways the light of Christ is shining into our displacement.

We have named that our bodies change.  We experience trauma, loss, disappointment, boredom.  Or we are really successful in the ventures we have given our life to and we have to come to terms with the fruit of our success.  Sometimes we just reach thirty, forty, or fifty and begin to be unsettled by our success and our disappointments.  We are displaced.  We find ourselves in the wilderness.

The story of Job is a story of displacement.  Even though he is a man of complete integrity, he loses everything.  His wife tells him to curse God and die.  His friends interpret what is happening to Job through the tradition.  The communal tradition is that God blesses the righteous and punishes the wicked.  By this principle, since Job is suffering, they discern that he must have sinned.  (First half of life spirituality needs to put God into the containers that help make sense of life.)

So what does Job do?  Job goes into the wilderness of self-examination.  He is displaced in every way and must wrestle with himself and God.  This is a journey that takes him beyond the pious sacrifices of the prologue into a depth of encounter with God that he has not known.  It is an encounter in which he discovers himself to be rooted and grounded in the love of the Creator.

The story of Job’s displacement is the human story.  It is our story.

His journey into the wilderness of suffering is the journey we take as we sit beside our loved one who is dying in hospice.

Job’s story is the journey we take as we hear the faith language and answers of friends and family, but must encounter God in the midst of our displacement.  This journey is deeply painful and sometimes our family, friends and community contribute to our sense of displacement.

And so we must go into the wilderness so that we can hear the voice of the Lord.  The voice of the Lord that is powerful.  The voice of the Lord that breaks, strips bare, shakes, and causes to skip (Psalm 29).  The voice of the Lord that is crying in the wilderness.

The voice of the Lord that, from the very beginning, speaks into hidden places and formless voids.  The voice of the Lord that names and calls forth both light and darkness.

This is the manifestation of God in the wilderness—the voice of John.  It is a voice that reminds us that the spiritual journey  is hard.  It is a voice echoed in the wisdom of the desert fathers who tell us:  “Stay in your cell and your cell will teach you everything.”  This is the truth that we must face ourselves and the truth of our stories.  This is the truth that God does creative, restorative work in these places.  This is the work of confessing our sins and being baptized into a new way of life.  This is the work of spiritual formation and healing.

The Good News about Jesus, the Son of God, begins in Mark’s gospel with the message of change.  Jesus enters this story as he comes out to the River Jordan from Nazareth in Galilee.  As he steps into the waters, a voice from heaven proclaims his true identity.  “You are my beloved Son, and I am fully pleased with you.”

Epiphany is a season of growing light.  Whether we are in the first or second half of life, may we have the grace and courage to embrace the wilderness work of God.  And as we take our own journeys into the wilderness, may we hear the voice of God confirming that we are indeed the beloved children of God.  The good work of his creation in whom he is well pleased.

AMEN

This morning we remember the story of the Magi.

I was born on El Dia de los Reyes–Three Kings Day (January 6)–which is a big deal in Mexico.  In Latin American culture, the Magi play a more prominent role in cultural celebrations.  It is los Reyes Magos, not Santa Claus, who bring gifts to children (although globalization is blurring these cultural boundaries).

In the church year, January 6 is also Epiphany—a feast day that celebrates the revelation of God the Son as human being in Jesus Christ.  Western Christians remember the visitation of the Magi to the baby Jesus as a story about Jesus’ physical manifestation to the Gentiles.

The story of the Magi is also a story about cultural and religious outsiders finding a place in God’s story.  It is a border crossing story.

We should not be surprised that Matthew weaves the story of the Magi into his account of the birth of Jesus.  From the beginning, Matthew frames the gospel as a story of inclusion.  We see this theme in the genealogy.

The genealogy clearly places Jesus and the Gospel within Israel’s history going back to Abraham.  But the genealogy also points to a significant role played by Gentiles, women (Luke’s genealogy does not include women–3:23-38) and those left behind in Judah during the time when the elite were taken into exile in Babylon.

Later in Matthew’s gospel, Jesus will say that he “was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel” (Matt 15:24).  Even so, there will be mercy and a few crumbs from the table for a Canaanite woman whose daughter is not well.  Jesus will heal the son of a Roman centurion (Matt 8:5-13).

So it is important to see the story of the Magi together with the genealogy and the other stories that deal with outsiders as a part of the message in Matthew’s gospel.  For the Jewish-Christian community Matthew is written to in the late 1^st century—the message is that Gentiles are an integral part of the reign of God.

Our reading from the prophet Isaiah envisions Gentiles being drawn to the light…sons coming from far away and daughters being carried on their nurses’ arms.  The story of the Magi embodies this vision.

It is a story of pagan astrologers who look to the stars to tell the future.  In those days astrologers were widely respected in the Greco-Roman world and everyone agreed that the best astrologers lived in the East.  So it is not surprising that the message that comes to the Magi is delivered not by an angel, but by the night sky.  As they read the constellations and planets, they understand that a child has been born king of the Jews.  And so they set out on a pilgrimage.

When the Magi arrive in Jerusalem with their entourage they are noticed.   This happens when you cross borders.  Perhaps it was their skin color.  Perhaps it was their strange clothing.  Perhaps it was their accent that gave them away.  Perhaps it was the size of their caravan.

What we know is that they begin to ask around about a king who has been born.  Perhaps they were naive about the politics of Judea.  Maybe they had not heard about the reputation of King Herod.  Although the client king of Judea helped to build the Temple in Jerusalem, he was also ruthless.  He murdered his own family members.  Thus the saying:  Better to be one of Herod’s pigs than his son.

When King Herod hears the news about why the Magi are in town—he is frightened—and all of Jerusalem with him.

In his recent book, The United States of Fear, Tom Engelhardt provides an analysis of how we, as a country, have paid an enormous price in order to maintain an unsustainable dominance of the world.  He says that a nation that lives in fear is no longer an empire: it incrementally erodes into an authoritarian state of diminishing power.

Fear based politics usually leads to scapegoating and violence.  We see this again and again in the biblical story and beyond.  We see this in the Exodus story when, in fear, Pharaoh calls upon the midwives to kill the Hebrew boys at birth (Ex. 1:16).  We see this in the birth account of Matthew’s gospel, where Herod’s fear lead’s to the slaughter of innocents in and around Bethlehem (Matt 2:16).

But that is not our text today.  Our reading today names the fear of Herod which leads him to call together all the chief priests and scribes to see what the tradition says regarding the birthplace of the Messiah.  A reading is offered from the prophet Micah.

Herod is not yearning for the fulfillment of this prophecy.  He is wanting to hold onto power.  And so he calls the Magi in for a secret meeting.  He spins it as wanting to learn where the child is so that he also can honor him.

The Magi have not crossed borders to be caught up in a political chess match.  And so when they have heard the king, they set out and the star leads them to the place where the child was.  Overwhelmed with joy, they enter the house and kneel before Jesus.  They open their treasure chests and offer him gifts.  Then they go back to their country by another road.

What does this story mean for our understanding of the gospel?

This fall I had the opportunity to meet Arshad.  We met for lunch at King of Prussia and talked for about an hour and a half before he had to go back to work.

As we shared stories,  I learned that Arshad had come to the United States from India to go to college in Iowa.  After that, he went on to graduate school at the University of Pennsylvania and now works for a pharmaceutical company outside of Philadelphia.  We talked about our families—Arshad is married and has three children about the same ages as my children.

As we shared stories, we talked about our faith.  Arshad, a Muslim, serves as a lay leader at the Islamic Society of Greater Valley Forge.  I asked Arshad what it has been like to be a Muslim in this country since 9/11.  Arshad said it has not been easy.  He talked about the time when there was a controversy over plans to build a mosque near ground zero.  He talked about the pastor in Florida who wanted to burn the Koran.

He also talked about a Christian congregation on the mainline who reached out to his community around the anniversary of 9/11 this last year attempting to build bridges of understanding and peace.  He talked about good relationships with the Jewish synagogue and Christian congregation nearby.

As I hear the story of the Magi, I think about my encounter with Arshad.  I think about what it means for us to trace our faith stories back to Abraham.  I think about what it means to encounter each other across religious and cultural differences.  I think about our common human story.

Christian theologian, Miroslav Volf, has been thinking about what it means for Christians and Muslims to live together in peace.  Volf observes that Muslims and Christians have worked together to depose dictators and assert the power of the people.  We’ve seen it happen on the Tahrir Square in Cairo during the 2011 revolution in Egypt, with devout Muslims and Coptic Christians protesting side by side.

Volf also notes the perception that Islam is a religion of terrorists.  And so it is with deep concern and commitment to the biblical story that Volf is asking questions like:  “Do Muslims and Christians have a common God?” and “Can we live together without bloodshed?”

These are important questions to ask as we reflect on the story of the Magi.  It is a story that contrasts the fear of Herod with the peaceable wisdom and reverence of outsiders to the story of Israel.

It is a story which calls us to embrace the possibility of room for others in God’s story who don’t look like us or tell the same stories about God.  Yet they are being drawn to the light.  The story of the Magi is a story about being led by stars.  It is a story about crossing borders, honoring Jesus, offering gifts and returning home.

It is a story that invites us to consider how God comes to us whether we are Hebrews or Gentiles, rich or poor, insiders or outsiders.  We may not be able to comprehend where the Magi fit into our story, but this morning we remember their story comes to us as part of the gospel story.

As we begin a new year…we hear the word that God has come to us…and the nations are being drawn to the light of Christ.

For darkness shall cover the earth, and thick darkness the peoples; but the LORD will arise upon you, and his glory will appear over you.

Lift up your eyes and look around.

Text:  Luke 2:22-40; Isaiah 61:10-62:3

Luke’s account of Jesus’ birth has many characters.

Front and center are the angels announcing the big news.  First, Gabriel to Mary and then the multitude to the shepherds in the fields.

Landing a part as a shepherd the church Christmas pageant was always a plum.  It meant the chance to wear dad’s old brown house robe and tie a towel on as head garb. It also meant no lines to memorize.

Then there are the other characters which we remember more lyrically from family readings of the “Christmas story” around the tree or songs we have sung.  We think of the emperor—Caesar Augustus.  We think of the nameless innkeeper who offers a place for Mary and Joseph to stay.  We think of the donkey all furry and brown.

But on this day when Christians celebrate the birth of Jesus, we hear Luke’s account of what happens eight days after Jesus is born.  And we meet two characters who are not a part of the crèche scene—Simeon and Anna.

Simeon’s longing…

What we know about Simeon is that he was a righteous and devout man.  We are told that he was looking forward to the consolation of Israel.

No doubt Simeon’s longing and expectation was nurtured by ancient prophesies like the one we heard today from Isaiah.  The Isaiah text looks forward with expectancy to a time of justice and salvation for all the nations of the world.  The prophet yearns for this like a bridegroom and a bride getting ready for their wedding.

There is overwhelming joy that something is coming—liberation, restoration, healing.

But the prophet also reminds us that when it comes it will be like a garden in early spring.  Gardens are places where we bury seeds in soil and wait.  We do our part, but also wait for adequate amounts of rain and sun—so that shoots will sprout up.

The hope Isaiah writes about was rooted in the imagination of Israel.  There is a longing for a return from Babylonian exile.  There is a waiting for consolation…generation after generation.

We also have longings…hopes and fears…expectations…

In a recent Mennonite Weekly Review piece, online editor Sheldon Good reflects on how young people are seeing and experiencing religion.  Talking about his own under 30 generation, he says “they are some of the most educated, technologically savvy, globally connected people ever. But they are coming of age in turbulent economic times and in a polarized political and religious climate.”

He says “many young people love the church. They may have been baptized in a congregation and may have lots of church friends and mentors. But for many of us, church isn’t working and has been or perhaps still is painful.”

As I read this article, I hear a longing being expressed.  I suppose the longings of each generation are shaped by a myriad of things.  Things like exile.  Things like the Vietnam war…MTV…the fall of the Berlin Wall…9/11…iPhones and Facebook. 

Some of us came of age in the 1960s when you weren’t supposed to trust anyone over 30.  My generation, the Gen X generation, has been known to be ambivalent toward institutional church and organizational structures.  No matter which generation we are a part of…

We all have longings…hopes and fears…expectations…

Simeon’s story is a story of longing fulfilled.  While he waits for consolation, Simeon depends on the Spirit.

We should not be surprised to read about the work of the Spirit even before Pentecost.   This is the central motif of the Luke-Acts story.  In his sermon at Pentecost we hear Peter quoting the words of the prophet Joel to explain what is happening.  We hear that in the last days the Spirit will be poured out on all flesh.  Sons and daughters will prophesy and old men will dream dreams.

Already in Luke’s gospel account we see this happening.  One of those daughters, Anna, is prophesying and an old dreamer is led by the Spirit to the temple on the day when Joseph and Mary bring Jesus to be dedicated.

Simeon’s consolation…

When Simeon sees the baby Jesus he is overwhelmed with joy and peace.  He takes the baby Jesus in his arms and praises God, saying:

Lord, you now have set your servant free to go in peace as you have promised; for these eyes of mine have seen the Savior, whom you have prepared for all the world to see. 

Simeon’s words about Jesus amaze Joseph and Mary.  They have traveled to the Jerusalem temple to fulfill that which is required by the law of Moses.  They have been living into the words given to them by the angels.  No doubt there has been talk in the community.  Being an unwed mother is not easy.  But Joseph has stayed with her.  Mary has trusted.  They are continuing to walk the journey together.

On this day they hear the words of Simeon and are amazed.  Perhaps they are amazed at his insight.  Perhaps it is his deep joy and peace.  Whatever it was, both Simeon and Anna offer the gifts of blessing and wisdom.  This is a gift of old age.

Elders help us wrestle with our questions and find our place in God’s story.  Simeon knows what it means to be given a word and to have to wait.  He knows all about the slow work of God.

So he does what wise elders do, he speaks directly about the pain of life.  He doesn’t sugar coat this journey of incarnation.  He says Jesus will be rejected by many.  Others will receive him with great joy.  Jesus will reveal the inner thoughts of many.  Sometimes it will feel to you Mary like a sword is piercing your own soul.

What a gift it is for a community to honor the wisdom of elders.  Richard Rohr says elders help initiate us into what it means to be human.  Elders teach us not to run from pain.  They help us see that human life is about more than pleasure-seeking and self.  They help us name our longing and they help us find God in places of desolation.

Simeon and Anna offer this gift to Mary and Joseph.  It is a gift of the Spirit.  It is a gift that brings deep joy and peace.

Naming our own longings…

The Christmas season is a time to consider once again how God’s love is being manifest in the world.  It is a time to be aware of our own longings—longings that are sometimes deeper than words.

I think about a story I heard this week…a story about a father putting his little boy to bed.

The little boy said: Papí, I hope my dream come true tomorrow.

What is your dream? asked the father.

I dunno yet, the little boy replied. I am just getting ready for bed.

Sometimes we can’t see what is being born in us, but we know the seeds of longing have been planted and are growing.  And so we watch and we wait for how longing will be fulfilled in us.

Vaclav Havel died last Sunday.  He was a playwright, the first and last president of post-communist Czechoslovakia.  He was nominated for the Nobel Peace prize.  One of my favorite quotes comes from him.

Something is on the way out and something is painfully being born. It’s as if something were crumbling, decaying and exhausting itself while something else still indistinct were arising from the rubble . . .we are in a place when one age is succeeding another, when everything is possible.

As we celebrate the mystery of the incarnation, do we dare to believe with Simeon and Anna that something is on the way out and something is painfully being born in the world…in us.  The baby born in a manger…held in Simeon’s arms also comes to us in our longings.  We do not yet fully see what that may mean for the world.  And so we watch and wait, and say…

Even so come, Lord Jesus.  AMEN

When I was in 10th grade my dad took a sabbatical. Because this would mean missing six months of school, we went to talk to Joe Holiday—the high school guidance counselor. (That’s right, the same Joe Holiday that is now one of Roy Williams assistant basketball coaches at the University of North Carolina.) He worked with our teachers to pull together six months of school work. We then traveled as a family through Central America and Mexico.

When we returned home, I turned in my work, took final exams and got a summer job. I got a summer job, because when you’re sixteen years old, you think about things like getting your driver’s license and buying your first car…going to college. You think about clothes, braces, who is popular and where you fit in.

When school started that fall I felt displaced. It felt like while I had been away for nine months, my social world had changed. I was displaced in a world of classmates wearing name-brand clothes, going to parties, and dating. When basketball season started, my place on the team was not where it was when we left for sabbatical. More displacement.

This displacement eventually led to my decision to move to Pennsylvania and attend Christopher Dock Mennonite High School my senior year. With my parents blessing, I packed up my Datsun 310 and drove back east.

This was a decision that re-ordered my world.

I’m not sure what all was going on for young Mary when she received a visit from the angel Gabriel. Perhaps she was not your ordinary teenager. She was from an ordinary small town–Nazareth.

Mary also knew some important things about her life. Things like where she was from and whom she was going to marry. Mary was promised to Joseph.

These things were in place when God sent the angel to visit her in Nazareth. The angel brings a message that would reorder her world.

Mary hears that she is favored, that the Lord is with her. Mary is perplexed by these words. Perhaps she wondered what was really all that special about her life.

Even though we are created in the image of God, we don’t always feel rooted and grounded in love. We can sometimes question whether we really have anything valuable to contribute to the world. Hearing that we are favored or blessed can be perplexing when we struggle to know what that means in practical ways.

And so the words the angel speaks to Mary—“Do not be afraid”…”The Lord is with you”—are words we need to hear also. We need to hear these words as we ponder our place in God’s story.

In the biblical story, God’s favor and blessing is for the life of the world. So it is with Mary. Mary hears that she will become pregnant, that she will have a son, and that his name will be Jesus. She hears that he will be great, and that he will be called Son of the Most High. She hears that his Kingdom will never end.

How can this be? How can this be because she is a virgin.

Mary’s question makes room for us to ask our own questions. How can the life of God be received so deeply into my being that Jesus is expressed in my life?

We are not all given the same word. Our stories are not the same story. Each of us can only live our story. We are from different places more or less like Nazareth. We are from families more or less like Mary’s family. We are each given different gifts and callings.

So when we are given a word—when we become aware of God in our lives—we each may have different questions…

Questions like how can my lunch feed this big crowd. Questions like how can our family dinner table turn into a community meal where all are welcome. Questions like how can I participate in God’s mission as a farmer, a business-owner, a stay-at-home mom or dad…. Questions like if my story is such a mess, how can God possibly bring change.

Questions like how can my body possibly be a vessel through which the life of God is born into the world.
As Mary ponders her question, she hears that nothing is impossible with God. Mary hears that the Word will be planted in her by the power of the Holy Spirit. Mary is willing to let go and trust.

Mary receives the word and it continues to grow inside her for nine months…and a lifetime of wondering what it means to be the mother of Jesus…the mother of God.

Luke’s account of these events bears witness that because she believed that there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her, a song of gratitude pours forth. Mary, full of grace and courage, bursts into song.

Mary sings about the power of God to transform the world through her lowly story. She sings about the Mighty One who is also merciful from generation to generation. She sings about the Mighty One who shows strength, scatters the proud, brings down the powerful and lift up the lowly. She sings about the one who fills the hungry with good things and sends the rich away empty.

But what does her song mean for us? What does it mean for the 1 percent and the 99?

As I listen to Mary’s song I think about the story of Kristin Rawls. Kristin Rawls comes from a solidly working class family in the suburbs of one of the most affluent towns in North Carolina. Following the advice of mentors, she followed her dream of going to college even though it meant taking out loans. She was told that student debt was a great way to build a credit history.

After college she served in Mozambique with the Mennonite Central Committee because she cared about poverty. She then followed her dreams to graduate school. Even though the cost of living was high in Washington D.C., her tuition was covered by scholarships.

Then Kristin decided to follow her dream of being a professor. She was admitted into a PhD program at Penn State. Living frugally, she was able to get by on the stipend of $14,000 per year. She was at the top of her class and things were going well until she got sick.

She was diagnosed with a life-threatening disease called lupus. Although she had health insurance, it was designed for young, healthy people. She attempted to manage her disease, school, and systems. She took out massive loans because her insurance did not cover what her doctors were telling her she needed.

Eventually she dropped out of school with more than $100,000 in debt. She is 31 years-old now and her credit is so bad now that she cannot even rent an apartment without a co-signer. She is one of the faces of the new poor in this country.

I listen to the story of Kristin Rawls and to Mary’s song and wonder how it is that Jesus makes a difference in our world. I wonder what the mercy of God might look like for Kristin Rawls, for this generation.

Advent is a season for self-examination. It is a time when we are invited to consider what it means for Jesus to come into our lives—into the life of the world.

As I close, I invite us to a time of silence…a time to reflect on how Mary’s story connects with our story.

As you ponder what is stirring in your heart and your mind, may you be given grace to receive the word that comes to you.  The word that invites you and me to a deeper way of living. Even as we live into our questions and trust that by the power of the Holy Spirit, nothing is impossible for God.

AMEN

In the morning
I awake and feel the sun rising
breathe the cold winter air
and know that you
are with me

I remember
the tenuous steps of my youth
the journey of leaving home
the exodus wanderings in the wilderness
the long struggle of letting go
and trusting

I remember
the fragile process of
leaving the security
of childhood images of you
that could not hold
the jagged edges of life

I remember
the drudgery of making bricks
the agony of cancer and death
the loneliness of worshipping
in a sanctuary of happy faces

I remember
the salty sting of tears
the fertile darkness of you
the tender shoots of hope
growing in deep shadow places

In the middle of the night
when the troubles of the day
threaten to undo me
even there you are with me

You are with me
as soil is with roots
as seasons are with years
as presence is with being

And so I wake this morning
aware of the pulse
of your presence
in the beat of my heart
in the breath of my life
in the sun that rises
this day

God of our days and our nights
God of our comings and goings
I give you thanks for your steadfast love
for all that is, for all that has been
for all that is yet to be